


dreamworks dragons: tokyo drift

by mintyfreshness



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astrid has had Enough Of His Shit, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Hiccup likes to pretend he's a bad boy, Racer!AU, Whump, but underneath he's the cinnamon roll we all love, some depiction of mild injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyfreshness/pseuds/mintyfreshness
Summary: “You’re mad, aren’t you?”“A little bit,” she admits. “Although I’m mostly pissed that you decided to do this when I wasn’t on shift. I mean, come on man; I’ve treated all your other stupid injuries, you couldn’t give me the courtesy of letting me chop your leg off?”•in which Hiccup is a boy racer who keeps injuring himself, and Astrid is a beleaguered ED doctor who has to keep patching him upinspired by a conversation on A Thing of Viking’s Discord server between Aleteia, mjx, Tranquility and myself





	dreamworks dragons: tokyo drift

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: this work contains liberal use of expletives, references to injuries and medical procedures (including the use of needles), v*miting, and the use of an ableist slur

The first time he comes into her ED, it’s with a broken wrist and some bruises that splotch all the way up his arm. As a junior doctor, she only sees broken bones once they’ve been through x-ray, so by this point the pain meds should have kicked in nicely – which is good, because it means they’re easier to deal with. It’s one in the morning and it’s already been a busy night, and she’s barely slept in two days, but she plasters a smile on his face anyway and goes to deal with her next victim- _patient_. Patient. _Don’t mention that in your exams._

“Good evening, Mr… Haddock-” (_what kind of name is **Haddock**_? she wonders in her head) “- I’m Doctor Hofferson and I’ll be treating your arm this evening. I understand you broke it… falling down the stairs?”

“That’s right.” He has this kind of shit-eating grin on his face that means he is absolutely not telling the truth. She knows it far too well. All the men who come into the ED after doing something they should not have been doing wear it.

And this guy is clearly doing something he’s not supposed to be, even if the ripped leathers didn’t give it away. _Boy racer_, she decides. Motorbikes, or maybe cars. She’s seen a lot already during her ED rotation; and she's patched them all up and sent them on their way without a further thought.

“Okay then.” She raises an eyebrow in a way that says _I absolutely do not believe a word you’re telling me but if I call you out I will get into trouble_. “Let’s have a look at your x-rays then.”

He’s lucky, she notes. It’s not an open fracture, and the actual break is very small. With a cast and some rest, he should be back to normal in about eight to ten weeks. She tells him as much.

“Can I still drive?”

“No. You need to rest it for at least four weeks.”

“Come on, please?”

“Sorry. You shouldn’t have asked me, you know. If you don’t ask me, there’s nothing to stop you. Now you’ve asked me, you’re legally constrained by it.”

“Can we just forget that conversation happened?”

“Nope. It’s gotta go on your chart now, or I get in a lot of trouble.”

“Please? Astrid?”

She sighs, somewhat exasperated. “It’s Doctor Hofferson to you. And no. Sorry.”

He sinks back into the pillow. “Fine. Just put the cast on and let me out of here.”

The rest of his treatment passes in stony silence.

* * *

He’s back two days later with a mild concussion and a gash on his not-broken arm. It’s the evening of her first day shift in weeks, so he’s the last patient she has to treat before she can go home and collapse in a heap for the eight hours before she has to be back at the hospital. _Yay, 100-hour work weeks_! she reflects sarcastically as she enters the cubicle.

“Good evening, I’m Doctor Hoffers- oh, it’s you again.”

“It is in fact me.” The shit-eating grin is back too, apparently. She collects herself, reminding herself of the oath she took and the need to be polite to patients, even if they don’t always endear themselves to her.

“I see you’ve got a concussion and a wound that needs stitching. Do you mind telling me how you got these injuries?”

“I was gardening.”

Astrid momentarily pauses in rubbing the sanitiser between her hands and looks him dead in the face. “You were gardening.”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“How on earth did you get that wound gardening?”

“Uh, rusty nail?”

“A rusty nail?” Now she’s more concerned. “Are you up to date on your tetanus? It could be infected.”

“Uh…”

She has to refrain from rolling her eyes as she picks the tablet back up to check his medical notes. “Nope. Looks like you were last vaccinated when you were seven. You’ll definitely need a booster if you’ve hurt yourself on that nail.”

She sticks her head out the partition to ask a nurse to fetch her a tetanus booster. When she turns back to face the patient, his face has gone white.

“Mr Haddock? Are you okay?” She rushes to his side to take his pulse. It’s quick, but regular. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“No needles,” he whispers, staring off into the middle distance. “I hate the things.”

“It’s the only way to give you the booster, but it will be over very quickly, I promise.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way?”

“I’m afraid so.” For a second, her empathy comes to the front and her hand darts down to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s just one scratch. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The nurse, a kind-hearted man who’s known as Fishlegs to the ED staff, reappears at that moment with the booster. Astrid takes a step away from the patient, wanting to present an image of propriety.

“Hey Doctor H, do you want to do this on your own?” Fishlegs says, placing the supplies down on the trolley. She’s built up an image of being self-sufficient and resistant to help with simple tasks. Some of the nurses punish her for it. Some, like Fishlegs, respect her for it.

“No, that’s okay, Fish,” she replies. “I think this is gonna need both of us.”

Fishlegs looks at her first, then the patient. “Hey man,” he smiles. “I’m Staff Nurse Ingerman, but you can call me Fishlegs.”

“Hiccup,” comes a pained response. _Hiccup_. That’s not the name on the chart, but hey – she’s heard worse names.

“Nice to meet you, Hiccup. I’m going to make an educated guess and say that you’re not the best with needles?”

“Is it that obvious?” Hiccup jokes, his hand attached to the arm not covered in plaster visibly scrunching up into the bed linen beneath him.

“Look at me,” Astrid commands with a gentleness in her voice. He obeys, turning his whole head in her direction, and for the first time Astrid notices just how green his eyes are. They’re bright and round and completely full of trust for her. Not something she expected from this kind of guy.

“Tell me about something you really enjoy,” she says softly. Once again, she offers her hand out for him to grasp as Fishlegs prepares the vaccine behind him. He takes it without hesitation.

“I love driving,” he says, which both surprises her and doesn’t. “My dad drove vans and lorries when I was little, and he taught me how to drive when I was twelve. I’m really good now, I can drive _anything_. And I’m a really good racer, too.”

“Do you race on a track?” she asks.

“Not so much,” he smiles weakly. “I would tell you more, but I don’t know how chummy you are with plod and- _motherfucker that hurts like a bitch_!”

“And that’s all done!” Fishlegs smirks a little as he dumps the used needle in the sharps box, and Astrid has to hold back her own giggle as the self-professed hard street-racer (_let’s be honest, that’s exactly what he’s referring to_) whimpers and rubs his upper arm over the site of the injection. Fishlegs finishes quickly with his clearing up and exits the cubicle with a "nice to meet you, Hiccup; see you later, Doctor H!"

“See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” she smiles at Hiccup, moving over to the supplies to get what she needs to dress the gash on his forearm. 

“If you tell anyone I was scared, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” His voice is laced with malice, but even so Astrid can tell he's not thrown his whole weight behind the threat. 

“Luckily for you, then, there’s patient-doctor confidentiality,” she says icily while extracting the last bandage from the tray, before spinning back around with her hands on her hips. “But if you make any semblance of a threat towards me again, I _will_ fetch the police and let them know how I think you got these injuries. You don’t scare me. And you’ve got far more to lose than I do. Are we clear?”

For a second, his mouth flops uselessly as he processes her rebuke. Then, he swallows hard, looks down, and mutters “sorry” to the bedsheets like an expletive. Astrid relaxes and sits down on the stool next to the bed, snapping her gloves on and inspecting the wound she needs to dress.

“Let’s get that arm stitched up, shall we?”

He sits mostly in silence as Astrid sews his forearm shut, the silence only broken by intermittent hisses as he feels discomfort and she apologises for it. About two-thirds of the way through, he speaks quietly.

“I’m sorry for saying that earlier. I didn’t really mean it.”

“I appreciate your apology.”

“A lot of the people I hang around with are all cool and hard, and I want to be like them.”

“Social pressure can be difficult to navigate.” She says this without any inflection in her voice.

“But I know that the way I spoke to you wasn’t appropriate.”

She pauses in her stitches and looks up at him. “I appreciate you apologising. Best way to show me you mean it is to be better next time. You don’t have to behave a certain way in front of me. I’m your doctor and I’m here to help you. That’s all.”

“I appreciate that,” he says softly.

She tells herself that the pink that threatens to rise in her cheeks is just the room heating up. No other reason.

* * *

He’s back for a third time, but this time it’s been over a week and the injuries are milder again. Normally, on a busy day, one of the nurses would deal with such a small scar but since it’s quiet and she’s treated him before, the department clinical lead, a tall woman named Ms Mala Caldera, gives Astrid permission to tend to his latest wounds.

“Doctor H, how goes it?” Hiccup crows as she draws the curtains in the triage bay. He’s clearly taken her advice to heart and is keen to make good on his effort to be less bitchy.

“I’m well, thank you. What have you got for me this time?” she smiles.

He gestures to his lower leg. “Just a small scratch.”

It’s actually a two-inch long hole over his right kneecap, but by now she’s used to the way he underplays his injuries. “And what’s the story this time?” she jokes. “Fighting a bear? Jumped off a building as it exploded like James Bond?”

“No, but that’s a good one, remind me to use it next time.”

“Right, of course.”

They spend the time it takes her to sew him up maintaining a light banter about James Bond films and the coolest way to jump out of an exploding building (he says it’s into a helicopter; she argues it’s into a swimming pool like in Die Hard 5), and when she signs him off to leave it’s with a weird feeling in her chest that she doesn’t quite know what to call.

* * *

A week later, he’s back again, but this time it’s not because he’s freshly injured. Astrid comes around to the waiting area to call her next patient, and he’s just there, arguing with the receptionist.

“…sir, as I’ve told you multiple times now, ED doctors do not take stitches out, General Practition nurses or doctors are the ones who-”

“And as I’ve said, I don’t trust them, I don’t even have a GP at the moment, and I want to see Doctor Hofferson right now!”

“Sir, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to ask security to come and remove you from the department.”

“What’s going on?” Astrid calls, mindful of the other watching patients.

Hiccup spins on his heel and smiles when he sees her. “Doctor H!” he calls. “Finally, someone with some sense.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Hofferson, I was trying to tell him that he needs to go to his GP to get his stitches removed, but he insists he has to see you-”

“It’s alright, Max,” Astrid says. “Mr Haddock-”

“I’ve told you, it’s Hiccup-”

“_Hiccup_, then; it’s not okay for you to come in here and yell at the receptionist. They told you already, you need to go to your GP to get your stitches out.”

“I don’t have a GP.”

“Well, I’ve been sending letters to _someone_ about your visits here,” she frowns. “A Doctor Orissa Singh?”

“GH postcode?” She nods. “I don’t live there anymore.”

“Then you really ought to register at a local surgery,” she replies. “So that you can go there and get your stitches out without disrupting the whole department.”

For the first time, Hiccup seems to realise that the room has gone quiet, watching their interaction intently. She sees some colour rise in his cheeks and his gaze drop to the floor as the consequences of his behaviour dawn on him for the first time.

“I’m sorry, Doctor H,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just don’t trust any other doctors.”

“That’s alright,” she says softly. “Why don’t you apologise to Max, and they can see about getting you registered at your local GP surgery?”

“Okay,” he mutters.

“In the meantime, if you don’t have a GP to go to straight away, you can wait here for one of the nurse practitioners to become available so they can remove your stitches. I’m busy with other patients, but I can see if Fishlegs can squeeze you in. Does that sound like an acceptable compromise?”

“Yeah, that’s okay. Thanks, Doctor H.”

“You’re welcome.” She gestures towards the receptionist desk. “Go on.”

With a small huff, Hiccup turns back to the beleaguered receptionist. “I apologise for my behaviour,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t appropriate, and you were just trying to do your job. I would be very grateful if you would continue to help me out.”

“That’s alright, mate,” Max says. “Let’s find your nearest GP, shall we?”

Hiccup moves forward to the desk with a small smile over his shoulder for Astrid; situation diffused, she takes a deep breath before consulting the chart in her hands once again.

“Mrs Bowman?”

* * *

The fifth, six and ninth times he comes in, it’s with the paramedics and there’s a lot of glass in his forearm – the one not encased in plaster, that is.

It’s a painstaking procedure – even one shard left in could cause severe internal damage – so on the first occasion, Ms Caldera instructs Astrid to inform her when she thinks she’s finished so that she can check her work for anything that’s slipped through the net. After being thoroughly impressed by Astrid’s delicacy and attention to detail, on the second occasion a few days later she lets Astrid get on with it by herself.

This leaves Astrid alone with him for a couple of hours as she inspects the wound for shards and making sure any bleeders get cauterised quickly, and then stitching and dressing the deeper cuts. She finds herself, bizarrely, enjoying it – not only is it a good opportunity to demonstrate her steady hands and dedication to perfection to her boss, but, as it turns out, Hiccup isn’t a bad conversationalist by any stretch of the imagination, even if he still refuses to tell her how he _really_ got his injuries.

They chat about anything and everything, from the rugby match playing silently on the television in the waiting area to the park near where Hiccup grew up. She talks about her various rotations so far and he talks about his work at a local animal shelter – something he immediately swears her to secrecy about in order to “maintain his street cred”.

And despite his bad boy persona, he lets her learn about the Hiccup underneath, the caring soul who isn’t really sure what he’s doing with his life or where he fits in. She learns he had a dog when he was a kid who was deaf but completely adorable, and that he and his dad used to go to rally car races in the summer holidays.

And despite herself, she tells him about her family, about all her cousins and siblings, how proud they were to see her be the first one to go to university – and medical school at that! She talks about her walk along the river when she leaves the hospital every day, and how she likes looking up at the sky on a clear night and trying to count the stars above her.

Watching him walk away when she’s finished raises a funny feeling that she doesn’t quite know how to label. It’s not helped by how he looks back over his shoulder and gives her a tiny wave before pulling his hood up and heading out into the rain.

* * *

The eleventh time she treats him in as many weeks, it’s towards the end of a long and tiring night shift. She pads into the almost-empty waiting room at nearly four in the morning to see him lounging across three seats with one wrist resting tenderly on his ribcage and the other slung across his eyes to keep the harsh lighting away as if he were fast asleep. But when she calls his name, he springs to his feet straightaway, face alert and bright despite the horrific hour. And despite many voices in her brain that tell her she’s toeing a line, she can’t help the warmth that rises in her chest at his obvious elation at seeing her.

“Come on you,” she smiles. “What is it this time?”

“It’s probably just a sprain, but I thought it was better to get an x-ray and check.” He falls into step beside her as they head through to triage.

“I’m glad to see some of my common sense is rubbing off on you,” she chuckles, holding the door to one of the treatment rooms open for him. “I’ll double check, of course, but the radiologist is fairly certain your assessment is correct – it’s just a sprain.”

“Oh, good,” he smiles. “I’d hate to ruin your morning bitching my mouth off while you put another cast on my forearm, I’ve only just got the last one off.”

“Well the alternative is for you to stop breaking bones so frequently,” she notes as he sits down on the bed.

“But if I do that then I won’t have a good excuse to come back and seduce you with my infallible charm and good looks,” he grins.

Astrid rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, Haddock.” She pulls the x-rays from the protective sheath and sets them into the viewer. “Yep, no fracture in your wrist. And the break from before is still healed, and the tissue around it is doing well too.” She switches the light off and slips the x-rays back into their sheath. “You’ve got a stupid amount of luck, you know that?”

“All part of the attraction,” he smirks.

“Sure,” she smiles, rubbing the anti-bac between her bands before gently picking his wrist up to inspect it more closely. “Where is it most sore?”

“Just on the- _sssssss_\- on the inside,” he hisses.

“Yep, you’ve annoyed that tendon a little bit,” she frowns, running her thumbs gently over the swelling. “But it should heal fairly quickly. I can’t feel any further muscular damage. A couple of weeks and it should be good as new.”

“Sweet.”

“One more thing-”

“No, don’t say it, Doc-”

“No driving.”

“Aww, come on!”

“You need to heal. You said it yourself, you’re barely out of your cast, and now you have this. I have concerns about your ability to control a steering wheel and drive safely.”

“Please?” He pouts at her; she has to try extra hard to not focus on the way his lips plump up in the process.

“Sorry. Three weeks minimum.”

“You’re so mean.”

“It’s for your own good,” she shrugs, gently placing his wrist back down and heading back over to grab the tablet and update his chart.

“Please?”

There’s a rustle as he gets up from the bed and stands right in front of her, so close that his chest presses against the top of the tablet. Astrid glances up – a fatal mistake. This close, she can see the depth of colour in his beautiful eyes, and the flecks of gold in his hair where it gives way to his forehead, and the way his lips waver as his gaze darts from her eyes to her own mouth.

For a second, they stand there, lost in the moment between then and the possibility of what could happen until the PA system in the hallway interrupts them and Astrid steps backwards, her rational brain rebooting.

“No, I’m sorry,” she manages, her voice a little wobbly as she focuses on various things around the room that are not his face. “I’m your doctor, and I’m worried about you. I mean, your wellbeing.”

She expects him to get cross and protest, like he’s done in the past. She does not expect him to hang his head in submission and say “okay”. It’s such a surprise that she has to remember how to speak.

“You promise?” She bites her lip.

“I suppose it is a bit unfair that you have to keep watching me get hurt and then patch me up after,” he offers. “Especially after what you’ve done for me in the past.”

“I’m your doctor,” she replies simply. A verbal reminder to both of them of the distinction between them, of the rules she’s promised to follow that prevent them taking any more steps closer to a cliff edge.

“Well, maybe if I stop hurting myself as much, you won’t be my doctor anymore.” His gaze is piercing. “And then maybe I could buy you a pint sometime.”

“It wouldn’t be in the realm of the impossible,” she says hoarsely.

He smiles softly, with none of the cocky bravado he’d offered when they’d first met. “Then I look forward to _not_ seeing you again soon, Doctor Hofferson. But if _Astrid_ was looking to catch up with me… well, she knows where I work.”

Before she can say anything else, he leans in and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight, Doctor Hofferson,” he whispers in her ear.

She takes a step back and manages a smile up at him. “Goodnight, Mr Haddock.”

* * *

When it happens, she’s not there.

She’s worked nights for days – longer than she can remember – so the night it happens she’s not on call, not even in the hospital, but at home and out for the count in her own bed, finally sleeping at a normal time in preparation for her change back to the day shift.

Her alarm goes off at five a.m. like it does for all of her early starts, and by six she’s at the hospital, downing a mug of steaming coffee in the staff room before heading out onto the floor to begin her day. If she finishes on time tonight, she might be able to squeeze in a few hours’ study – her end of year exams are only a few months away now, after all…

“Doctor Hofferson?” Ms Caldera calls from her office as Astrid stands at the nurses’ station, signing some charts. “Could I have a word, please?”

Astrid does as she’s bid. Ms Caldera (surgeons revert to not having Doctor as their title, for some reason that she’s never quite understood) is generally reasonable, but she tends to only call people into her office when they’ve gone above and beyond, or, alternatively, when they need a bollocking.

“Have a seat, please.”

It’s probably a bollocking, although she can’t remember doing anything wrong recently-

“I understand you have something of a regular interaction with a patient known as Hiccup Haddock?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“You’ve treated him… eleven times over the past three months.”

“He claims he keeps having freak accidents.”

“Do you believe him?” Ms Caldera’s gaze is stern; Astrid can’t work out what she’s looking for.

“I think there’s more to it, but I wouldn’t want to make any accusations without proper evidence.”

Her consultant nods. “Do you have a relationship with Mr Haddock outside this hospital, sexual or otherwise?”

“_What_? I mean, excuse me?”

“He requests to see you every time he comes in. I need to make sure that there’s nothing inappropriate going on.”

Astrid sits up straight and holds her head up. “There is nothing more to our interactions than that of a doctor and a patient. I’ve never seen him outside the hospital, and when I have been treating him, I have been professional and respectful at all times. If he has requested another doctor for further treatment, I am perfectly happy to give way.” It’s not 100% true, but she hasn’t broken any rules. _Yet_.

“That’s alright, Doctor Hofferson, I believe you. This is not the purpose of this discussion, but I did want to make sure that you were suitably detached before I gave you this news.” Ms Caldera leans forward. “Mr Haddock was brought into the ED at around eleven p.m. last night after a serious road accident. He was in the passenger seat of a car that overturned on a bridge and landed on the road below – the driver apparently fled the scene before the police got there. The paramedics found that his left foot had been amputated before they arrived at the scene, and he had a further serious open fracture to his lower leg when they extracted him from the car. The surgeons rang down half an hour ago to inform me that they have had to amputate the remainder of his lower leg below the knee, but that he is in recovery and doing well so far.”

It feels like someone’s hit her in the chest with a hammer.

“Doctor Hofferson? Are you alright?”

She shakes her head and makes herself look her boss in the eye. “Yes, Ms Caldera. It’s just a bit of a shock.”

“I understand. Strong friendships can be struck between regulars and doctors, and it’s only natural for your empathetic nature to kick into overdrive at this.”

“I knew he was doing something stupid, that he was going to keep injuring himself, but I never imagined it would come to this…” She trails off into nothing.

“I understand both you and Staff Nurse Ingerman have worked most closely with this particular patient. Fishlegs was here when Mr Haddock was brought in by the paramedics last night; I sent him home early. Do you need the day off too?”

Astrid shakes her head. “No thank you, ma’am. I’m able to do my job.”

Dr Caldera nods her head gently. “Okay. You’re a hard worker with good instincts and I trust you. But you’re on minors only until further notice, and if it gets too much you are to come and tell me right away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That will be all, Doctor Hofferson.”

* * *

She manages to hold off darting upstairs to check on him until one o’clock, wherein she makes the most of her scheduled thirty-minute break to sprint from the ER to the other end of the hospital and up three flights of stairs to recovery – only to learn that he’s been downgraded to a regular ward after waking up and that she now has to head down to ortho in order to find him.

Luckily, ortho isn’t a restricted floor and, as an added bonus, one of her friends from medical school is currently on a rotation there. Ruff looks up with mild amusement as Astrid appears at the desk just before quarter past.

“I wondered when I’d be seeing you today,” Ruff smiles, pushing herself to her feet. “He’s awake, you can come straight through.”

Astrid is too out of breath to speak, so she just gives a thumbs up and follows Ruff to a row of beds off to the left while trying not to pant too hard.

He’s in the final bay next to the window, and his gaze shifts from the clear blue sky outside as the two doctors approach him.

“Hey Hiccup, I brought you a present,” Ruff laughs, reaching down to check his chart against his current heart rate and blood pressure.

It’s clear he’s been through hell. His face is covered in small cuts, and his arms and chest are all bruised, and the mass of white bandages where his lower leg should be is in no way subtle nor avoidable. But as he turns to face them and his face lights up on seeing her, for a brief second it all seems to melt off him.

“Astrid,” he breathes. “I mean, Doctor H.”

“What is it this time?” she smiles weakly, in an attempt to mimic their old routine.

“Jumped off a building as it exploded like James Bond,” he replies in a hoarse voice.

“Sounds about right.”

He sighs and lifts up a hand; she catches on straight away and steps forward to take it in both of hers.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“A little bit,” she admits. “Although I’m mostly pissed that you decided to do this when I wasn’t on shift. I mean, come on man; I’ve treated all your other stupid injuries, you couldn’t give me the courtesy of letting _me_ chop your leg off?”

She stops short, horrified by her poor attempt at making a joke of the situation. Behind her, she hears Ruff gasp. That’s it. That’s definitely crossing a line. Oh, _fuck_.

But then Hiccup starts laughing. Really hard – well, until he winces at the bruises on his chest and Ruff makes him lie back down and stop breathing so deeply. She feels his brilliant green eyes on her as his thin lips curl into a snide smile.

“Alright, I think I earned that one,” he smiles. “But I promise you can do the next one, okay?”

“I’d prefer you not to lose any more of your appendages, thank you very much,” she replies. “In fact, stop doing stupid things that land you in my ED in the first place.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you,” he pouts, and for a second her heart stops short.

“You haven’t really been injuring yourself just to see me?” she asks quietly. “Hiccup?”

“No. No, I haven’t. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he responds straight away, reaching his other hand over to rest on top of hers. “I’m just accident prone and I do stupid things, and this time the stupid things I do took a bigger chunk out of me than normal.”

“You need to stop,” she admonishes him. Tears are forming in her eyes, but she blinks them away furiously. “You hear me? You need to chill out. You need to recover.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“You need to look after yourself better.”

“I know.”

“You need to stop worrying me.” That last one comes out without her allowing it, but she can hardly take it back.

Hiccup squeezes her hands tighter. “I know.”

Ruff clears her throat behind her. “Astrid, I need a word before you head back downstairs.”

“Will you come back?” he asks quickly. “Will you visit me while I’m here?”

She knows she should say no. He’s her former patient and it’s a bit inappropriate and there’s a lot to process because she’s tired and stressed and worried about him. But then she looks at him again, all battered and bruised and desperate for someone to show interest in him, and she finds herself whispering “yes” before dropping his hands and running off after Ruff before she does something even more stupid.

At the desk, Ruff is annotating his chart when she approaches.

“It’s not great,” Ruff says. “Luckily, we got really good margins in surgery and he should be a candidate for a prosthetic, if he wants one. He should be out of here in a couple of weeks, if there aren’t any more complications. But he’s doing well so far. His pulse skyrocketing when he saw you notwithstanding.”

Astrid doesn’t even roll her eyes at Ruff’s jab. “I knew he was an idiot, but I didn’t think he’d get hurt this badly,” she mutters.

“He’ll be okay. Do you know if he has any family? There’s no next of kin on his chart, and his phone got destroyed in the crash.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s just him. His dad died a few years ago and his mom’s not in the picture. He’s got some friends, but I think they’re the ones that goad him into this nonsense in the first place.”

“Boy racer?” Ruff asks. Astrid nods. “Figures. Tried to be a hotshot when he woke up in recovery, didn’t want any pain meds or anything. I had to sedate him again fifteen minutes later on the way up here.”

“He was always like that downstairs, refusing locals for his cuts.”

“Boys. Bunch of idiots.” Ruff rolls her eyes and closes the chart. “I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot of you for the next few weeks. Want to get coffee together tomorrow morning?”

“That would be lovely,” Astrid smiles, before looking up at the clock. “I better go, I’ve gotta run back down to the ED before half-past or Ms Caldera is going to be cross.”

“You’re working with The Dragon?”

“She’s really not that bad if you do your job properly!” Astrid’s already halfway to the door.

“We’re not all goody-two-shoes, you know!”

“Only because some of us try harder than others!”

“Suck it, Hofferson!” Ruff cackles as Astrid starts running.

* * *

True to her word, she sees him at least once a day from then on. During her lunch breaks, and again sometimes on her way home, she leaves the ED and heads upstairs to the ortho ward to check on him.

It’s slow progress. Amputation is never an easy thing to get your head around but it’s especially difficult when it’s happened under traumatic circumstances. For the first few days it’s easier; with him drugged up to his eyeballs with pain meds and the oxygen tubes in his nose, he’s mostly calm and tranquil and happy to see her. But as they start weaning him off the meds and his full consciousness returns, so does a quiet fury in his eyes accompanied by the signs of a body in tremendous pain.

“You need to be gentle with yourself,” she reminds him on the sixth day after the accident during a particularly difficult period. “This is a marathon, not a sprint. You’re not just going to be okay with this suddenly.”

“But I want to get up and get on with it,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Just give me the stupid prosthetic so I can try and get back to my friends before they work out what happened.”

“Wait, you haven’t told them yet?” She tries to hide the incredulity in her voice, but from the look on his face, she hasn’t done a great job.

“Well, they were there when the crash happened, but the police officer who came yesterday said the only other person they’d interviewed was the lady who called the ambulance, so I guess they scarpered after the car turned over.”

“But they must have contacted you since, right? Come to check on you?”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” he snaps. “Okay? Just leave it.”

They eat the rest of their lunch in silence.

* * *

“So, I hear you’re getting discharged tomorrow.”

Hiccup takes another bite of his sandwich to avoid giving her a response. She’s noted that he does this when the answer he’s going to give plays on his emotions – something he’s loath to admit he has at all.

She watches him swallow and sigh before he responds with one curt syllable. “Yep.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He shrugs. “I’m going from being bored in a hospital bed to being bored in my own bed so there’s not a lot of change.”

“It’s a big change,” she says calmly, fiddling with the foil her own food is wrapped in. “Have you managed to find anyone to help you get settled?”

“No,” he mutters, scowling at the bedsheets.

“Not even your friends?”

“They all dumped me a few days ago when they found out that _this_ happened. Said they were too cool to let a _cripple_ stay in their ranks.” The fury in his eyes relaxes. “I don’t really have anyone else though.” A strained chuckle. “Well, except for an old mate of my dad’s but he’s also had two amputations so I thought that might be too on the nose.”

“But he’d be perfect for helping you through your recovery in the long term, though,” she points out. “He knows how you feel, the pain you’re going through. I can’t imagine anyone better.”

“Yeah but he can’t exactly lift me up and carry me to the shower with a hook for one hand, can he?”

Astrid recoils at the venom in his voice and he visibly softens. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I just don’t know how to feel. And I don’t really have anyone to help me.”

“You have me,” Astrid says quietly. “I know I’m not really a friend, but-”

“You are,” he interjects quickly. “At least, as far as I’m concerned.”

She feels the warmth blossom in her chest. “In any case, I’m too emotionally invested now. It’s like watching a really god-awful TV show – you know you should move on but it’s just _so_ good to watch.”

“Are you saying I’m the amputee version of Kim Kardashian?”

“No, I-”

“Nah, you’re right, there’s much better daytime TV to draw from. Ooh, I could be a Real Housewife! I’m good at bitching about my problems. Or I could go on _Say Yes to the Dress_. I’d look _amazing_ in a ballgown.”

“Please, you’re more the type for a mermaid,” Astrid giggles.

“Well I could buy all of them!” He throws his hands up in an exaggerated huff. “That’s showbiz, darling! Fetch my agent! I have dresses to buy.”

“Stop,” Astrid shushes through her own laughter. “You’re gonna wake the other guys up and the nurses will have my head.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he replies in an over-the-top stage whisper, which makes her giggle even more.

“What I was saying,” she smiles when she finally collects herself. “What I was saying was that you can call on me to help you, if you want.”

He shifts slightly in bed. “I don’t want to bother you. You’ve got your exams coming up soon and I don’t want to be the thing that makes you fail.”

“Do you really think I’d offer if I wasn’t sure I could fit you in?” she teases. “Wait. Hang on.”

“Astrid Hofferson, are you referring to the act of inter-?”

“Nope. That is not what I meant at all.”

“Awh, come on! Look at this! Tell me that looking at all this doesn’t make you broody as fuck.” He tears his gown away from his upper body and fixes a seductive look on his face, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Astrid laughs so hard that she does accidentally wake another patient up, causing the ward sister to descend from her office to come over and admonish them.

“It’s well past visiting hours,” she says sternly in a thick Welsh accent. “We make allowances for you, Doctor Hofferson, because we know how busy your schedule is downstairs, but I have to draw the line at keeping other patients awake with your theatrics. It’s not fair, and you should know better.”

“I’m sorry, Sister Edwards,” Astrid says softly. “It won’t happen again.”

The nurse nods. “I think it would be better if you were to head home now, don’t you Doctor Hofferson?” she asks in a way that is very _clearly_ not a question.

“Yes, Sister.” Astrid rises to collect her belongings, and the satisfied nurse retreats back to her station.

“Astrid?” Hiccup calls softly.

“Yeah?”

“Were you serious about helping me?”

She looks up from her bag to see his face, nervous and quiet, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “Of course,” she says gently. “Why would you think I wasn’t?”

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to help me,” he mumbles, staring resolutely at his hands. “I don’t want to accidentally make you hate me or resent me.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t serious. And you’re not an obligation. I enjoy spending time with you, and I want to see you get better. Besides, we’re friends now, right?”

A small smile spreads across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are.”

“And that’s what friends do for each other. Real friends.”

He nods.

She steps forward one last time, rummaging in her bag for a pen. “Here.” She grabs his right hand, the one that she plastered first all those weeks ago, and starts writing. “This is my number. Do not share it with anyone. But if you need me, call me.” She looks up into his slightly confused face. “I don’t know what time they’re discharging you tomorrow, but if you want some help in the evening, text me your address and I will come and help. Okay?”

“Okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Acting on instinct, she leans down and places a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Hiccup.

“Goodnight, Astrid.”

She resolutely does not turn back as she walks away, but nothing could keep the warmth from rising in her cheeks as she does so.

* * *

A month after Hiccup is discharged, Astrid lets herself into his flat with his spare key for the first time.

It’s not _her_ fault that his flat is only five minutes from the hospital compared to her own twenty-five-minute walk to work every day. That’s almost an hour extra every day to sleep, eat, or just not be in the hospital. Of course she’s going to take advantage of that – and it’s also a good reason to check on Hiccup regularly.

He gives her the key a few days prior, to save him having to heave himself into his wheelchair to come and open the door when he’s not expecting her, but when she uses it for the first time, it’s not unplanned at all. She comes to see how he’s doing after finishing a seventy-two hour on call period and she can barely keep her eyes open and string a coherent sentence together, so it doesn’t take much for Hiccup to convince her to crash on the bed in his spare room rather than go home, assuring her that he’ll wake her for food in the morning. She’s out as soon as she hits the pillows, still fully dressed atop the sheets.

She comes to slowly the next morning feeling infinitely more well-rested than any other nights of sleep she’s had in the last week – probably because she’s slept on an actual bed rather than on a cot in the on-call room. The light in the room indicates that it’s probably late morning, and the stiffness in her joints suggests she’s been asleep for well over twelve hours.

She sits up slowly, stretching her limbs out one at a time and enjoying the tail end of the warmth of sleep for as long as possible. The light outside streaks in from the cracks around the blinds, and for a second she sits and watches the dust dance in the air. Then the need to feel clean takes over, and she reluctantly gets off the bed and takes her bag to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s showered, brushed her teeth and feels slightly more human, and pads round to the kitchen where she can hear music playing in the background. Hiccup’s sat in his wheelchair at the kitchen table, concentrating fiercely on chopping some vegetables up while the grill works on some toast.

“Afternoon, sleepyhead,” he smiles as she walks into view.

“Oh god, is it really?” she yawns. “You should have woken me up earlier.”

“Nah, you needed the sleep. Besides, you don’t scowl as much when you’re sleeping and it’s kind of cute.”

“You were watching me sleep?”

“Uh…” Astrid tries to conceal her amusement as Hiccup tries to dig himself out of this situation. “Well I only came to check on you to make sure you were okay! I wasn’t being creepy, I promise!”

“Sure,” Astrid smirks, snatching a piece of carrot off the chopping board. “Whatever you say, Haddock.”

He smiles back at her. “This is nearly done, so I was thinking we could go crash in front of the TV to eat?”

“I’m game. Just kick me if I start snoring again.”

A couple of minutes later, the food is ready and they make their way round to the next room. Astrid carries the plates through, then sets them down on the table to help him out of his chair and onto the settee. He does it without any complaint or protest – a stark difference to how he was when he was first discharged, where he desperately insisted on doing everything himself. It took three occasions where he had to call Astrid during her lunch break to pick him up off the floor and get him back in his chair before he accepted that he needed assistance and called his dad’s friend for help.

Astrid had come in the next evening to find Hiccup and Gobber (what a name, honestly) at the kitchen table, laughing and joking in a way she hadn’t seen since his accident, and the sound was music to her ears. Pleased with his progress, she did a few odd jobs before heading home to her own bed.

After a few days, he started getting better about being helped. His pride gave way to a quiet gratitude and his insistence that if she ever needed anything (“chips, car, kidney”), it was hers. And then one day, without them verbally agreeing to it, they became a team. Not long after, he’d given her the key.

Sat on his sofa eating lunch with him, Astrid knows that he can be bitchy and selfish and prone to anger when he gets frustrated about his amputation. But she also knows that underneath that is a man who is funny and emotional and deeply caring about animals and the people who support him. A man who’s proven he’s capable of self-reflection and improvement. A man who’s no longer her patient.

And it’s getting harder every day to keep a lid on the love she has for him.

“Astrid?” He’s made a joke that she’s not responded to. She snaps out of her reverie and looks round at him.

“You okay?” he asks. And if she wasn’t watching his face so closely, she might have missed the way his gaze flickers from her eyes to her lips and back again.

In the end, they both move at the same time, leaning in to find the other’s lips warm and welcoming. Astrid moves her plate to one side so she can raise a hand to cup his face, and she feels him moan softly into the kiss. Carefully, being mindful of his leg and his own plate, she swings her legs round to straddle his hips; his hands carefully move to rest on her waist.

She kisses him until she absolutely has to come up for air, pouring all the emotion she’s been bottling up for months into it, hoping he gets the message.

If the way his hands start to tighten on her hips is any indication, he’s absolutely receiving.

She rests her forehead against his and sighs deeply. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes shakily against her cheek. “Yeah, this is definitely okay.”

She’d happily stay this way for a very long time, but after a while longer his leg starts aching and they find the need to adjust their position to something more comfortable.

He spends the rest of the afternoon curled up in her lap, the two of them watching shitty films together in between lazy make-out sessions, and for an eternal moment the world feels a little bit perfect.

* * *

His hands drum against his thighs, the slapping sound echoing down the mostly empty corridor until he catches the slightly pained look on her face.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“It’s alright,” she smiles. “I’m just nervous about this. Which is stupid because it’s not even my leg.”

“Yeah, well, I know shit about how this works, whereas you're an actual doctor so that’s probably why I’m not nervous,” he laughs. “Do they attach it to my knee cyborg-style? Or do I strap it on like a gun holster, like in the movies?”

“Neither,” she smiles. “Today they’ll probably just take a mould and see which materials you like best against the stump.”

She sees something flicker across his face.

“You okay?” she asks gently, squeezing his hand.

He nods, but the words don’t come out immediately, so she settles for reaching a hand up to play with the hair at the back of his neck until he finds what he wants to say.

“I am nervous,” he manages eventually. Which is a bit of a gimme, because she’s seen the way he’s gradually become more tetchy and short-tempered in the last week, especially about his leg. But she doesn’t want to discourage him, so she squeezes his hand in support instead. “I’m worried that the prosthetic won’t work, and I’ll be stuck in a chair for the rest of my life and dependent on you and other people and not able to do the things I want.”

She nods, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on his cheekbone. “I hear your concerns, and they are valid,” she begins. “But you’re a good candidate for a prosthetic with your stump, and as long as we work hard on your physio there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to get around by yourself eventually. Sure, it’s going to be long, and difficult, and it’s going to hurt. But the end result will be worth it.”

She sees him nod again, the hint of a smile twitching his lips.

“And having a prosthetic means you’re one step closer to driving again.”

His head snaps round. “You mean-?”

“No,” she says firmly. “Absolutely not. If you ever get in one of those death traps again without my knowledge and consent, I will dump your sorry ass without any hesitation.”

He nods. “Alright, point made.”

“But you will be able to drive normal cars. Who knows? Maybe you can help with the animal rescue place, driving supplies around for them.” She brings her hand up from their laps to cup his face. “My point is, there are so many options for you. It’s gonna be hard work getting there, but it will be worth it, I promise.”

“I love you,” he whispers. He said it for the first time only days ago, but Astrid already knows she’ll never get tired of hearing him say it. Already knows she’ll never forget the tears that formed in his eyes when she said it back. Already knows she’ll never love anyone else as much she loves him right now.

“I love you too,” she smiles, leaning in to kiss him properly.

They keep it (mostly) appropriate given that they’re technically at her workplace and anyone could come past at any moment, and when they finally part she can tell he’s not as nervous anymore.

A door opens down the hall, and a voice calls “Mr Haddock?”

* * *

_"_I still can’t believe you agreed to this.”

"It’s private land but we have the owner’s permission, and you’ve promised to stop if I ask you to.”

“God, don’t take _all_ the fun out of it,” he teases her, laughing when she rolls her eyes and shifts indignantly in her seat.

She watches as he gently runs his hands over the steering wheel and gear stick, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “How does it feel?” she asks quietly from the passenger seat. It’s the first time he’s been in a car that’s not a tin can, and it’s got to mean a lot to him.

He looks up at her and smiles. “Like a hug from an old friend.” He sighs and sits back, looking dead ahead. “It’s good to be back.”

She leans over and gives him a quick kiss. “You ready?” she asks.

“I should be asking you that, considering it’s your first time doing this kind of thing.”

“I’ve told you; I’ll be fine.”

“Says the girl who doesn’t go to theme parks because she doesn’t like being on the rides.”

“That’s different! That’s to do with the physics involved in rollercoasters. You can’t pull _g_ in a car!”

“You can in my car, sweetheart,” he smirks. “Last chance to nobly back out. I’ll be a gracious victor, I promise.”

She shakes her head, defiant. “Nope. I am not losing this bet to you.”

“Okay. Just gonna say, I’m looking forward to my reward from this bet. A lot.”

“That’s because you’re a man and all men love bl- you know what, just start the bloody car.”

She sees the shiver run down his spine as he cranks his car for the first time since his accident. “Listen to that sound,” he whispers. “Oh, I’ve missed you, bud.”

He looks over at her. “Ready?”

She crosses her arms. “Just fucking get on with it Haddo-”

Her words descend into a scream as the car take off forward into the empty lot, almost loud enough to drown out the cackle that crosses his lips, but her panicked screech cuts off sharply as he throws the car into a sharp turn.

“Oh my- fuck- Hiccup!”

He just keeps laughing and throwing the car into tighter turns, and she knows he’s having the most fun he’s had since his accident, and she knows she wants to stick it out even if it’s just to make him happy, but the world starts spinning more and more and she feels the bile rising in her throat and-

“_OKAY YOU WERE RIGHT, HOLY FUCK, THIS IS HORRIBLE LET ME OUT_-”

The car lurches to a stop and she just about makes it out the door before she vomits all over the asphalt.

In the back of her mind she’s vaguely aware of Hiccup pissing himself laughing.

“_Astrid goes for a spin, everybody_!”

(Three years later, she has to ban him from showing the video at their wedding.)

(He does it anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my attempt at a crackfic and it still turned out whumpy and fluffy lol stick with what you know kids
> 
> be kind to yourself and others!
> 
> minty xoxo


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